The Rarest Faith VI: The Triumph of Principles
by Marguerite1
Summary: Final chapter of the Post-Administration series - January, 2011
1. 1 of 5

THE RAREST FAITH VI: THE TRIUMPH OF PRINCIPLES (Epilogue)  
  
Classification: Post-Administration, Political. CJ/T, S/OFC, and - at last -   
J/D.  
Summary: 2011  
"Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles."  
--Ralph Waldo Emerson  
  
***   
January   
Washington, D.C.   
***  
  
It was a testament to her popularity and her power that C.J. had not been fired  
five minutes after the revelation that she'd interviewed her own husband. But  
"Practical Politics" was the highest-rated show of its kind, garnering  
incredible amounts of revenue for commercials. It probably didn't hurt that C.J.  
was a personal friend of the President-Elect, either. No way was NBC going to  
kick her to the curb.  
  
She was, however, asked to resign, and to do so quietly.  
  
Part of her wanted to make a fuss. The other part of her knew they were right  
and she was wrong. So she compromised. She resigned - but on the air, saying  
that she was doing so to take the position of Media Director for the Seaborn  
White House. So there.  
  
Her coup came in the form of taking Andrew Wang with her to Washington. Andrew  
had been tapped to sit in for C.J. on several occasions and had built up quite a  
following of viewers attracted to his quick wit and boyish charm. C.J. saw more  
in him, though, saw poise and a rare gift for effortless spin. She made certain  
that Sam also saw those things.  
  
Andrew wasn't sure, but C.J. was, and that was enough to make him pack his bags  
and follow her.  
  
The transition team was getting everyone moved in as the Schiller people moved  
out, causing no end of friction between the two groups. Josh was just now moving  
in because Schiller's Chief of Staff was called away "on a family emergency" and  
hadn't able to vacate until a few days after the scheduled date. C.J. dazedly  
moved into what she still thought of as Toby's office and put Andrew next door  
in what had been Sam's. Once in a while she forgot where she was going and ended  
up in what was now the Communications Director's office. Holding that job was  
Frank Torres, who had worked for Matt in many capacities and understood what it  
was like to change locations. When C.J. got "lost" he would just smile and offer  
her a guided tour of the White House.  
  
On some days she realized where Sam's office had moved and it made her a little  
dizzy.  
  
Today, though, she was going over press room protocol with Andrew. She walked in  
for the first time in four years and was almost bowled over by the memories. For  
his part, Andrew looked as if he might panic at the sight of the backdrop with  
its picture of the White House. "Oh, God," he murmured.  
  
"I don't see why you're so impressed with a drawing of the White House when  
you're standing inside the actual White House," C.J. snarked, but she was also  
grinning because she remembered having the identical reaction the first time she  
walked into the room.  
  
"You're funny, C.J. A riot." Andrew glared at her and adjusted his glasses. "Do  
I just...go up?"  
  
"Yes, indeed." She walked with him, fighting the urge to take center stage as  
she had done so many times before, and waited by his side while he fished out  
his notes. "Got the reporters memorized?" she asked.  
  
"Names, mostly. I haven't quite mastered which ones to call on for which  
issues." Andrew glanced out at the vacant chairs. "They're going to eat me  
alive, C.J. What the hell am I doing here?"  
  
She remembered that feeling, too. She had been so overwhelmed by the size of the  
task that she'd gone to Leo for reassurance. In all the hubbub of moving into  
the White House, C.J. didn't realize that Leo's idea of reassurance would be to  
tell her that she got the job because she was the only one of them tall enough  
to see over the damn podium, and to please go away and do her job so he could do  
his.  
  
"Well, let's see. I'm running the Media Department, Frank's doing  
Communications, Sam's likely to be a little busy, and I guess that leaves you  
because I'd put Helen on the podium before I'd let Josh anywhere near it."  
  
The viewing of The Tape had been a true highlight of the transition team's first  
week. Josh, covered in flop sweat, denying that there was a Secret Plan to Fight  
Inflation, was used as the definitive example of what not to do during a press  
briefing. Josh had borne the indignity with rare humility, cringing at the  
appropriate moments and only whispering "bwiefing" to C.J. once.  
  
Andrew laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, there, boss."  
  
"Any time." She patted him on the back and went out to the seating area,  
choosing a chair a few rows back. "What do you have for us today, Andrew?"  
  
"President-Elect Seaborn and his family are settling into the White House. This  
is the first time in almost fifty years that a young child has lived here..."  
  
***  
  
It wasn't so much a nursery as a palace. "Her room's nicer than ours," Sam  
grumbled, but he was smiling at Helen's reaction to her surroundings. The little  
bed with safety bars would have to be replaced someday, but for now, with Helen  
beginning to perambulate all over the place, they were going to stay with one  
this one. Toys and books lined the walls, carefully set in freshly-painted white  
shelves. Not just any toys, either, but gifts from heads of state and  
schoolchildren, from everywhere, coming in droves after being thoroughly  
inspected by the Gift Office and the Secret Service.  
  
Nina insisted that most of the booty be quietly donated to children's hospitals.  
It was hard enough to keep Helen from being spoiled by her friends and family,  
much less if this sort of thing kept up. Her other insistence was that every  
gift be followed up with a thank-you note - and for that reason, two-year-old  
Helen Seaborn now had a secretary.  
  
"It's all a little over the edge," Nina said. She watched Sam get down on the  
floor with Helen and help her put two stuffed cats on the lowest shelf.  
  
"It'll settle down in a few days." It took him a moment to get back on his feet.  
"Ow. Too many boxes to unpack."  
  
"What's still left?"  
  
"Nothing, actually. Ginger banned me from doing anything else in the office. I  
dropped a stapler on my foot and yelled, and six Secret Service guys came  
running in. She says she can't get anything done with that kind of commotion  
going on." Sam's pout was so adorable that Nina wanted to kiss it right off of  
him.  
  
"She's got your number, all right. Who's coming over for dinner this evening?"  
  
"Josh, C.J., Toby, and Donna. They did so much for me, and I know exactly how  
hard their new positions will be. I want it to be special for them. And special  
for you, too, after they leave."  
  
What hadn't been special about the last two months? But she knew what he meant,  
and she stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss. "How special is special?"  
  
He gave her the smile, the full, brilliant smile that made his bright blue eyes  
sparkle with mischief. The one that meant she would soon be feeling very, very  
good.  
  
"Recent polling indicates," he began, whispering into her ear even though Helen  
was thoroughly oblivious, "that the majority of U.S. citizens believe that the  
President and First Lady are very much in love."  
  
"That's nice," Nina said absently, suddenly interested in the movement of Sam's  
hand along her lower back.  
  
"The same data also tells us that public displays of affection between the First  
Couple are considered beneficial to the image of the White House." He kissed  
her, long enough to make her a bit breathless. "So you know what I think?"  
  
Oh, that was nice. "What do you think?"  
  
His suggestion had something to do with fresh whipped cream and the Mural Room,  
and it made her squeal with sudden laughter.  
  
***  
  
"Members of the senior staff are still busy moving into their offices," Andrew  
continued. "The Oval Office is being organized by President-Elect Seaborn's  
assistant."  
  
"Andrew?" C.J. waved her hand in the air. Andrew just stared at her. "Call on  
me," she prompted.  
  
"C.J., do you have a question?"  
  
"I'm not C.J., I'm Katie Witt from the Washington Post."  
  
"This is--"  
  
"I. Am. Katie. Witt."  
  
Without flinching, Andrew pointed to C.J. "Katie."  
  
Much better. "There's a rumor that President-Elect Seaborn has been prohibited  
from doing any manual labor in the Oval Office because of an incident involving  
a glue gun."  
  
"It was a stapler."  
  
"No, no, no!" C.J. got up and put her hands on her hips.  
  
"I forgot it was you!" Andrew wiped his forehead and tried again. "I don't have  
anything for you on that."  
  
C.J. blew him a kiss as she sat down again. "I have a follow-up. I know that  
Josh Lyman is just getting settled in today. Who's helping him?"  
  
"Mr. Lyman prefers to organize his own effects." He scowled. "Nah. Most of them  
have met Josh. They'll never believe it."  
  
"Right. And he's been through two more assistants just since the election."  
  
"I have nothing for you on that."  
  
She started to laugh. "Andrew, that was me."  
  
"I thought you were Katie. It's hard to tell, you know?"  
  
"Yes. I do." She leaned back and propped her feet up on the chair in front of  
her, crossing them at the ankle. "So, if I'm Katie and you get the question,  
what do you tell her?"  
  
Andrew thought for an instant. "Mr. Lyman's familiarity with the Chief of  
Staff's office - both the job and its physical surroundings - is so great that  
it's best for him to take care of these things himself."  
  
***  
  
Josh tripped for the fourth time, catching his foot squarely on a box of  
briefing memos. His first instinct was to grab the phone and call Donna down  
from her second-floor office, but pride won out and he settled for moping, not  
that moping could really be called pride.  
  
Opening the door to the office the first time had been like a blow. Stripped  
bare, just as it had been four years earlier, the room looked empty, a shell  
long abandoned. There was nothing of Leo McGarry here.  
  
What did you expect? Josh asked himself. Leo's ghost, come by for a little  
friendly haunting and advice? He wasn't sure. He just hadn't expected it to be  
so...empty.  
  
So Josh got to work. Photographs went up everywhere, saving room for pictures  
from the upcoming events. He'd been working so hard at the transition offices  
that he probably wouldn't remember anything about this week unless someone took  
photographs. Books, hundreds of them, lay in boxes and on tables, arranged not  
by topic but by height and color of bindings. He couldn't remember the name of  
the temp who'd thought that was a good idea.  
  
Most of his time was spent talking on the phone and sorting out the books while  
trying to remember not to put his feet on this desk. There was a superb leather  
desk set, a gift from his mother, that was untouched except for the two broken  
pencils and single chopstick that were stuck in the pencil holder. She'd expect  
pictures, and he couldn't imagine what she'd do to him if there were heel marks  
on any of the pieces.  
  
She'd know what to do with the books, though. He flirted briefly with the idea  
of asking her to come to D.C. and be his assistant, then he realized that was a  
sign of incipient madness and he went down to the Mess for a bagel.  
  
As the fourth person stopped him and dragged him to a meeting he didn't want to  
attend, Josh began to wonder how the hell Leo ever managed to get anything done.  
Somehow, he managed to nod at the right times - although he did force himself to  
focus for the security briefing - and, several hours later, he arrived at the  
Mess in time to find out that the last bagel had been commandeered by Andrew  
fifteen minutes ago.  
  
Joshua Lyman was the second most powerful man in the nation, and he had to  
settle for cream cheese on pita bread. "This is...pathetic," he mumbled aloud as  
he headed back upstairs. Two interns stopped him in the hallway, asking about  
ordering file cabinets for an office that was too small to hold them, anyway,  
and by the time he had answered their question and moved six feet further down  
the hall, he got stopped again by Ginger.  
  
"I need you to look at something for Sam's...President Seaborn's...office." They  
shared a rueful grin. Everyone was having trouble making that last adjustment,  
referring to him as SamPresident or SamSir and having to correct themselves.  
  
"What is it?" Josh asked, wondering what on earth someone might have sent as a  
gift this time.  
  
"Just come look, okay?" Ginger picked up her pace and Josh followed, hands in  
his pockets. It still gave him a weird feeling to see Ginger's stuff on Mrs.  
Landingham's desk, even though that desk had seen two proprietors since then. It  
was even weirder in the Oval Office.  
  
"What am I looking at?" he asked. Apart from some mail on the desk, nothing  
seemed to have changed.  
  
"Must be next door," Ginger said. She opened the door connecting the Oval Office  
to Josh's and led him inside. "Ta da!"  
  
A miracle had happened. Things were...tidy. Put away in places where he'd have a  
fighting chance of seeing them again. "Did Donna...?" he started to ask, but  
Ginger had already retreated and closed the door behind her.  
  
Josh looked around the room for a while, touching this and that, admiring the  
quick work that had made order from chaos. There was a new picture on the wall,  
one of him talking at a meeting, gesturing with his hands, while Leo looked on  
from his desk with a proud smile on his face.  
  
"Where'd this come from?" Josh asked, running his finger along the top of the  
frame. He shook off the confusion and walked out of the office to the empty  
reception area.  
  
Not empty.  
  
Sitting at the desk, looking utterly composed and quite busy, was Margaret.  
  
"Hey, Josh," she said, barely sparing him a glance as she sifted through a stack  
of phone messages.  
  
"Hey...Margaret." Josh jerked his thumb toward his office. "Did you...?"  
  
"It was a wreck and now it's not. Your schedule is on your desk. You have a  
meeting with senior staff at three and a transition team meeting at four. None  
of these messages contains anything urgent so they're going in the gray folder,  
not the red one. There are six each of pencils and pens in your holder, and  
we're keeping chopsticks and other utensils out here in the third small drawer  
on the left."  
  
"'We're?' Did I, you know, hire you or anything?"  
  
"The only assistant you've ever been able to keep for more than a week was the  
only one you never hired. I thought I'd keep the streak alive."  
  
Josh leaned against the desk, resting his hands on the edge. "Seriously. Thank  
you for organizing the office - but what are you doing here?"  
  
After a brief pause, Margaret set down the gray folder and looked up at him. "I  
know you, Josh. I know you're going to try and fill Leo's shoes." She reached  
out and covered Josh's hand with hers. "So I just thought I'd show you where the  
shoelaces are."  
  
He chuckled softly. "You've gotten clearance, right?"  
  
"All done. I'm set." She released Josh's hand. "If that's okay with you."  
  
He heard the hesitancy, the emotion. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "Will you  
bring me coffee?"  
  
"Not in a million years."  
  
But she'd walk through fire for him, just as she had for Leo.  
  
"Then you're hired." The relief in Margaret's smile astonished him, then he  
remembered that she probably missed Leo every bit as much as he did. And if  
helping Sam was Josh's way of keeping Leo's legacy alive, then helping Josh was  
Margaret's. He went around the desk and startled her with a sudden hug. "Thanks.  
I appreciate it, I really do."  
  
She shook him off, brusque and efficient, and handed him the gray folder. "Don't  
you have a country to run? I'm still trying to make heads or tails of the  
whacked-out filing system these people used."  
  
"Right." Josh sauntered back to his own office, smiling, and prepared himself  
for whatever else the day might hold.  
  
***   
Part Two 


	2. 2 of 5

***  
  
"What can you tell me about the Inaugural Address?" C.J. asked from another  
seat.  
  
"Well, Mike," and here Andrew looked up for confirmation that he'd gotten the  
name right, "I'm sure you understand that the contents are closely guarded -  
especially since President-Elect Seaborn has written them himself."  
  
"How does Frank Torres feel about that?"  
  
"Probably relieved." He was good, waiting for the laugh before calling on her  
yet again.  
  
"Seriously, though, does the writing staff have any input at all into the  
speech?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure they do. But it's not the people on the staff we have to worry  
about."  
  
***  
  
Toby continued his circular march around Sam's private study. Just like the old  
days, only he'd never have the arguments with Sam that he'd had with Jed. He  
didn't think he could live through that again.  
  
Sam, who was typing on his laptop with rhythmic precision, tried to ignore him.  
He was unsuccessful. "Toby, you're making me nervous. Would you sit down,  
please?"  
  
"I'd rather walk around," Toby said. He looked over at the desk and saw Sam  
looking back at him with an annoyed frown on his face. "You've got to be kidding  
me," Toby groaned. "I have to do what you tell me?"  
  
"If you don't, then what's the point of this gig?"  
  
Casting his gaze heavenward, Toby sighed. "Yes, sir," he said as he went to the  
loveseat and perched on the end of it.  
  
"I could get to like this," Sam commented as he returned to his work.  
  
"Do you make Nina call you 'Mr. President?'"  
  
"That would be the First Lady of whom you speak, and you bet your ass I do." It  
was a dead-on impersonation of Bartlet, which made both men laugh. "Seriously, I  
don't care what you call me when it's just us. But for appearance's sake, you  
know, you might need to get used to the other thing."  
  
He could live with that. "What does Josh call you?"  
  
Sam stopped again, his neatly-manicured fingers pausing just above the keys. "He  
hasn't called me by my first name since the election."  
  
"How do you feel about that?" Toby asked, genuinely curious.  
  
"Weird. But I've heard it was the same with Leo. In eight years, he might have  
called his best friend by name maybe five times." Sam settled his glasses back  
on his nose again and resumed typing. "Did you know Margaret showed up this  
morning and just started organizing Josh's office and answering his phone?"  
  
"I've heard about that. Does Josh know?"  
  
"He called a while ago. Sounded ecstatic. Whether it's because he's finally got  
an assistant who isn't a joke or because he's finally getting the hang of the  
new phone extensions is anyone's guess."  
  
The tension was rising in Sam's voice again. Time for more distraction. "How is  
Matt - sorry, Vice-President Skinner - doing?"  
  
"He's fine. Since we had to give him an upstairs office, we're thinking of  
installing a Batpole." Sam paused as he deleted a sentence from the document,  
then took a breath and continued. "It's a little weird for him at the Naval  
Observatory, as you can imagine. Weirder still for Gary, even though he's only  
going to stay there off and on."  
  
"A gay couple living with the Navy? What could be weird about that?" Toby waited  
for Sam to laugh, which he did. "You can help change all that, you know. Is it  
in the speech?"  
  
Sam closed the laptop and took off his glasses. "You are so transparent, Toby.  
No kidding. I can see through you better than I can see out that window."  
  
"The window's bullet-proof. I'm not."  
  
"You are not proofreading my speech, Toby, and that's final. I've written two of  
these. I know how to do it."  
  
"You wrote a few pages of the first one and about half of the second one. You  
sure you want to fly solo?"  
  
Toby realized that Sam was having difficulty restraining himself from whacking  
him on the head with the laptop - or any blunt, heavy instrument that might be  
at hand. Sam took a deep breath, reached for glasses he'd already taken off,  
then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wrote for myself during a year or so as  
Lieutenant Governor of California and for four years as a U.S. Senator, plus all  
my campaign speeches. And the response to them was good enough to get me here.  
So, what is it that you want from me, Toby?"  
  
Toby leaned forward, looking down at the carpet. "To know that I'm still  
useful," he said softly.  
  
It was a terrible admission to have to make. But he'd finished both Jed's newest  
book and his own, both off at the publisher. C.J. was handling the Media  
Department, and the new guy, Torres, was incredibly adept at running  
Communications. Toby had been wandering the halls all day before coming to Sam's  
study this evening, hoping against hope that he'd be needed.  
  
Just that.  
  
He glanced at Sam, who was looking at him, or through him. "You've been at loose  
ends for a while," he commented, his expression softening. "God knows I wanted  
you to work here. I mean, I understand your reasons for staying in Manchester,  
but if you've changed your mind, I can find you a place, a good place--"  
  
"I'm not asking for a job. I just want to...not be stagnant. Not be left behind.  
Not be without purpose."  
  
"Is that what you think you are?" Sam asked. "Toby, seriously...?"  
  
It was a miserable place to be, marooned on this island of self-doubt. But he  
nodded in agreement with Sam's question. He truly was without purpose, and his  
heart ached with the pain.  
  
Sam jumped back in without waiting for Toby to give a verbal response. "Do you  
think for one minute that I could have done anything, anything at all of  
substance, before I worked with you? Do you have any idea what you did for me?"  
  
Toby waved the question away. "Past tense, Sa--Mr. President. I have no idea  
what to do for you now."  
  
"And that's what's eating at you?" Sam sighed and re-opened the laptop. "Come  
here. Bring a chair, don't hover." He waited for Toby to bring a chair, then  
scooted to one side so Toby could read over his shoulder. "Comment on my  
punctuation, and you'll be sent to Upper Volta first thing in the morning."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it." Toby glanced at the opening paragraphs. Beautiful. Sam's  
writing had always been just this side of visionary, but in recent years he'd  
learned to temper it with facts, rounding it out, bringing it within reach of  
his listeners - although they'd still have to strive to comprehend its many  
levels.  
  
Sam glanced at Toby, and his smile was a little hesitant. "I didn't mean that  
about the punctuation."  
  
"Good, because I was going to pack my bags and risk your wrath - look at  
paragraph seven..."  
  
***  
  
"Andrew, what are the First Couple's plans for this evening?"  
  
"He's having dinner with close friends, following which he will go over his  
Inaugural address and get a good night's sleep. Photo ops are not available  
tonight, due to the private nature of the gathering, but if you can't get some  
good shots at tomorrow's inauguration, then you are just not having enough fun  
in show business."  
  
"I'm going to be late for that dinner," C.J. commented, looking at her watch. "I  
brought my clothes with me so I won't have to back home and change. There are  
still Secret Service agents at Sam's house, and I think they think I'm stealing  
Nina's dresses."  
  
Sam had offered C.J. the use of his home for the next four years in exchange for  
C.J.'s New York apartment. "Nina and Helen will need to get away now and then,  
and I'd like them to have a place that feels familiar," he had said, but C.J.  
knew damn well that he made the offer so she wouldn't have to lose her  
pied-a-terre because of the massive salary cut.  
  
Andrew chuckled as he put the loose papers in his folder. "I can't imagine that.  
You're like a foot taller than she is."  
  
"Think that matters to the Treasury Department? I came into the White House one  
time with the wrong ID card, after working here for three years, and they  
stopped me and pulled guns. Guns, they pulled on me. So take them seriously."  
She extricated herself from the chairs and headed for the door. "Think you're  
ready?"  
  
He smiled at her. "We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"  
  
"That's about the only answer you can give, Andrew." He opened the door for  
C.J., and she reached over to switch off the light.  
  
***  
  
Soft light, quiet music. Calm. Possibly for the last time in a long, long while.  
Donna tried to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere, even though she had an disagreeable  
premonition that something odd was about to happen. She glided into the living  
room of the Residence with a glass of wine in one hand, early enough to be alone  
for a few minutes before going in for dinner.  
  
Donna hadn't meant her ensemble to be an indicator of her mood, but in a  
powder-blue sweater and faded jeans she had garnered more than her fair share of  
"are you feeling blue?" jokes as the day had worn on. Of course, the real joke  
was going to be when C.J. got there in an evening gown when everyone else was  
informal. There had been a point to this prank somewhere along the line, but  
Donna wasn't in the mood to dig up the memory.  
  
There were plenty of other memories. Other gatherings in this place, with other  
people. The first was while Josh was in the hospital, when she'd come to the  
White House on a summons only to find herself having a quiet chat over brunch  
with the President, First Lady, and Leo. Not to find out about Josh, but to ask  
her how she was holding up. Another, an impromptu wake the night they found out  
about Mrs. Landingham. A third, a special party for the support staff following  
the resolution of the M.S. scandal. "Just because," Abbey had said, and she'd  
tried so hard to keep her expression happy when her whole life was collapsing  
around her.  
  
Please, God, Donna beseeched, don't let anything like that happen to Sam and  
Nina. Let this course be a smooth one.  
  
Sam, his radar as finely-tuned as ever, sidled up to Donna and refreshed her  
wine. He set the bottle on the table and draped his arm around her shoulders.  
"You okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said, smiling as much as she was able and setting down the  
overfilled glass. "Just a little tired. Overwhelmed. I thought it would be  
easier this time, but really it's not."  
  
"Exactly." His own smile faded a bit, and his eyes held more world-weariness  
than Donna had seen in a long time. "I don't know if I'm going to be good at  
this, Donna."  
  
"Don't say that!" Indignation won out over lethargy. She turned around and threw  
her arms around his neck. Two Secret Service agents strode forward but Sam waved  
at them. "Oops," Donna mumbled as she backed away. "I keep forgetting."  
  
He laughed, and the melancholy in his eyes melted away. "They'll get used to it  
after a while. I refuse to lose this part of what we've all shared. I can get  
used to not being able to go out with you for drinks, to having you call me  
'Sir' instead of 'Sam' and 'Mr. President' instead of 'Hey, when are you going  
to finish the thing I asked for?' What would drive me crazy would be if none of  
you could ever touch me again."  
  
"No chance of that," Donna said as she brushed her fingers over the wings of  
gray at Sam's temples. Suddenly self-conscious, she picked up her glass in both  
hands and took a sip of the delicate wine.  
  
"Seriously, though," Sam continued. "If something's wrong, you'll tell me? I  
can't have my guests of honor standing around with red eyes tomorrow when I'm  
being sworn in."  
  
"No, sir," Donna said, lifting her chin and tossing her hair back. Sam started  
to laugh again, and that got her going, and by the time C.J. came in and  
shrieked that she was going to kill whoever sent her the invitation saying  
"black tie," her mood had improved enough for her to make it to the dining room  
without the ghastly feeling that she was about to cry.  
  
The table was set for six: Sam at the head with Nina at the opposite end. C.J.  
was on Sam's right, with Toby next to her, and across from them were places for  
Josh and Donna. It was an intimate gathering, meant to be an oasis of quiet  
before what was sure to be a sandstorm over the next few days.  
  
Everyone waited for Sam, who blushed a little as he took his seat and motioned  
for everyone else to sit down as well. C.J.'s gown glittered in the candlelight.  
Toby held her chair out for her, probably because he was to blame for the  
outrageous amount of time she had spent getting dressed. Donna took her seat  
opposite Toby, who raised his eyebrows at her. "Where's Josh?"  
  
"I have no idea. Matt went downstairs to see him on his way out. That was at  
least two hours ago."  
  
"I hate to start without him," Sam began, but he was interrupted by Josh's noisy  
entrance.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got stopped by about sixteen thousand people, all of  
whom seem to have been hired by the White House despite having no measurable  
brain activity." He sounded winded and tired.  
  
He looked absolutely edible. All in black, from the turtleneck sweater to the  
jeans to the butter-soft loafers, and even at his age - was it possible, truly  
possible, that Josh was crowding fifty? - he cut a dashing figure.  
  
"You know what? I just realized...I'm sorry," he said, sounding chastened. "Good  
evening, Mr. President, and please accept my apologies for being late."  
  
"Oh, for God's sake, just sit down so the rest of us can eat," Sam grumbled, but  
he was grinning at Josh's abject apology. "If you turn into Uriah Heep, then I'm  
done for."  
  
Josh took the seat next to Donna. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear by  
way of greeting, a proprietary gesture that should have annoyed her but instead  
left her wanting to put her head on his shoulder.  
  
She settled for nudging his knee under the table.  
  
"Anyway, now that I have you all here, I just wanted to say a few words," Sam  
said. "I mean it. A few. I have to save my voice for tomorrow."  
  
At that, everyone smiled their goofiest, happiest "I can't believe this is  
happening" smiles. Josh reached out for Nina's hand and clasped it. She looked  
absolutely radiant, despite the dingy Princeton sweatshirt she had doubtless  
stolen from her husband, despite the hairband holding her curly hair away from  
her face. Nina squeezed Josh's hand, holding it as if it were a lifeline.  
  
"And now, if my Chief of Staff would unhand the First Lady, I'll continue." Josh  
flashed his dimples at Nina, then settled back in his chair. Sam got up.  
Everyone else got up. "No, no, sit down, we need some sort of signal or  
something," he sighed. When his guests had seated themselves again, he  
continued. "I know this should've been something elegant and formal..."  
  
C.J. glared at Josh, who shrugged and pointed at Toby.  
  
"..."but that's really not who we are. There will be nights when we have to get  
decked out and put on a show, but not for one another. So, that's why we're  
making this as normal as possible, and why I'll do this whenever I get the  
chance."  
  
"Please tell me we're not having chili," Toby moaned.  
  
"Lemon rosemary chicken, actually. But that's beside the point. You all have  
impossibly full schedules for tomorrow, and so do I, and I'm just afraid that in  
the middle of everything I won't have a chance to talk to you - although Donna  
and C.J. had better save me some dances." He looked around the table, smiling at  
each of them, his gaze lingering on Nina. "I can't believe my good fortune. So  
many men go through life not knowing that they're important to another living  
soul. I can't imagine...I don't dare to think about my life turning out any  
other way.  
  
"Ages ago, when I was a Congressional aide, I met Josh. Enthusiastic. Brilliant.  
Brash, with a heart of gold."  
  
"And a full head of hair," Josh put in, patting the gray-tinged waves that,  
really, hadn't receded all that much farther.  
  
"You can be replaced," Sam declared evenly, then he shook his head. "No,  
actually, you can't. Because you took me to New Hampshire, and you introduced me  
to Toby, who introduced me to C.J. Donna, I think, introduced herself."  
  
Donna shook her head. It amazed her, sometimes, to look back on that day and  
realize the enormity of what she had done - just walking into someone's office  
and starting to work. And that someone was now the White House Chief of Staff.  
And the man she adored, even though she'd kept him a little distant for entirely  
too long.  
  
"Let's not mention your introduction to Nina," C.J. needled, bringing Donna back  
to the present. "Although the look on her face when you dumped champagne on her  
head was not to be believed."  
  
"I was okay once I knew my viola wasn't hit," Nina said, propping her chin on  
her hand. "Then I looked at Sam, and I thought he was pretty good-looking, and  
the way he kept apologizing was disarming. And now...here I am."  
  
Sam crossed over to where she was sitting and kissed her. "I'd like to propose a  
toast," he declared. "To the wonders of working in the White House, to  
friendships that will only deepen over time, and to love found in the strangest  
of places."  
  
"Hear, hear." Toby clinked his glass against C.J.'s, then saluted the people too  
far away to reach. He looked at Josh for a moment.  
  
Donna saw it coming.  
  
"How is it that you two didn't get together, you know, the first time?" Toby  
asked archly.  
  
Josh sputtered, almost doing a spit-take with the wine he was drinking. "We  
worked together at the White House! It would've...been...a public relations  
nightmare. And she'd have sued my ass for sexual harassment."  
  
"Not so much," Donna mumbled. C.J. choked back a laugh, which made Toby light  
into Josh even more.  
  
"You've been out of the White House for four years, guys. Granted, for two of  
those Josh was married, but we've seen the last 24 months go by, and other than  
a date to the Inaugural Ball--"  
  
"How'd you know I asked--?"  
  
"You asked her less than half an hour after Sam was elected. I saw the whole  
thing. I'm still in therapy." Toby waved his glass at Josh. "I understand about  
not wanting to begin a relationship with a colleague until after you were out of  
the White House."  
  
"And after the divorce," C.J. added. "But now you're about to start a  
relationship, and guess what? You're both going to work for the White House,  
starting tomorrow."  
  
Oh, crap.  
  
That actually had not occurred to her.  
  
Donna turned and looked at Josh, whose expression was between a deer caught in  
headlights and a little boy whose puppy had just been eaten by the Loch Ness  
Monster.  
  
Evidently it hadn't occurred to Josh, either.  
  
"If only you'd become official sooner - it'd have made the spin so much easier,"  
C.J. said. "Now, it'll be 'they got together during the Seaborn administration.'  
Before would have been a good idea, image-wise. But it looks as if that ship has  
sailed."  
  
"We still have..." Josh consulted his watch, and his hands were shaking. "Four  
hours before Inauguration Day." He swallowed. "Technically."  
  
Technically?  
  
"That's a good point," Sam said blandly. "Anyway, it's too bad, and I guess you  
can wait another eight years. I'm going to tell Nathan that he can bring in the  
salads."  
  
"I'm not waiting another eight years!" Was that her own voice? And what on earth  
was that...look...that Josh was giving her? That look, with those sweet brown  
eyes softer than she'd ever seen them, and his mouth just a little bit open as  
if he wanted so, so much to kiss her.  
  
Which he did.  
  
Kiss number one had been on the piano bench in the St. Germain the night of the  
Democratic Convention. Kiss number two was happening at the dinner table in the  
White House.  
  
Kiss number three, directly following kiss number two, was also at the dinner  
table in the White House.  
  
"Looks as if they couldn't wait eight more minutes," Nina said, obviously trying  
not to laugh. Or maybe she was laughing. Donna had trouble hearing her past the  
roaring in her ears.  
  
"Get. A. Room." That was Toby, of course.  
  
"Or just, you know, go home," C.J. shrugged, making the strap of her evening  
gown slide down her arm and giving Toby the opportunity to push it back up.  
Slowly.  
  
Josh moaned, looking hopefully over at Sam. "Thing is, we can't leave without  
your permission." He almost whimpered the words.  
  
"I should ask my advisors." Sam winked at Donna, who knew that her face must be  
glowing like a stop light. "What do you think? Keep them here or let them go?"  
  
"I don't need the bad press if they start up while you're in office," C.J. said  
firmly.  
  
"I don't need them necking like teenagers at my dinner table," Nina added. Donna  
realized that Josh had his hand on her thigh, moving inexorably upward, and she  
squirmed in her seat.  
  
Nodding, Sam turned to Toby. "What do you say?"  
  
"I say let them out. Throw them out. Whatever. But if we're having lemon  
rosemary chicken tonight and it gets cold because we have to sit through an  
evening of Unresolved Sexual Tension, then I will become quite irascible.  
Possibly bordering on disagreeable."  
  
"That settles it." Sam strode over and pulled Donna's chair back from the table.  
"I'm giving a pre-Executive Order: go home. Make C.J.'s life easier, would you?"  
He helped her to his feet, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her  
gently on the cheek. When Josh rose, unsteadily, a moment later, Sam reached out  
and took hold of his forearm. "Josh...don't screw this up."  
  
Toby snorted. "An unfortunate turn of--ow!" The sound of C.J.'s foot connecting  
with his shin was unmistakable.  
  
Josh shook his head and reached for Donna's hand. "I serve at the pleasure of  
the President," he said.  
  
"Not tonight, you don't," Sam replied. "Between now and midnight, you serve at  
the pleasure of Donnatella Moss."  
  
The answer seemed to be good enough for Josh. It was certainly good enough for  
Donna. She smiled, looking into Sam's eyes and seeing all the affection and good  
wishes in the world written in sky-blue. She could see Nina grinning broadly,  
and when she turned her head she saw C.J. mouthing "about damn time."  
  
And she watched as Toby solemnly raised his glass to her, and to Josh, and to  
what she had been wanting for so, so many years.  
  
***   
Part Three   
  



	3. 3 of 5

NOTE TO READERS: This section contains non-graphic (R-rated) depiction of consensual  
sex between two adults. If this is not your cup of tea, then please skip to Part Four .  
  
***  
  
Land speed records were not set between the White House and Donna Moss'  
apartment, but two cars came very, very close.  
  
Josh never let her tail lights out of his sight. Perhaps he feared that she  
would change her mind, or that she had moved again and he wouldn't know where to  
find her. He wasn't sure. But some force inside of him insisted that he'd be  
safe as long as he stayed with her.  
  
He liked a metaphor as much as Sam did.  
  
Donna's apartment building had many features he liked, he thought as he pulled  
haphazardly into the parking space behind her. There was parking, right by the  
door. And no roommate, meaning that there were no roomate's cats. And Donna had  
a bed that Josh's ex-wife hadn't slept in.  
  
Very good. Very good.  
  
He loped up to her and grabbed her hand again, holding it tightly as she opened  
the outer door to the building. Letting go long enough for her to find her key  
and put it in the lock was agonizing. He wanted to touch her, wanted to ground  
himself, lose himself in her. If he'd had super glue with him, he would have  
bonded them together like broken halves of something precious.  
  
But she was something precious, wasn't she? Skin like the finest porcelain, hair  
like spun gold; Josh's brain sifted through all the hyperbole of a man  
desperately, enthusiastically in love.  
  
The moment the door closed behind him, Josh pressed Donna up against it with the  
length of his body, his hands on either side of her head. He leaned in for a  
kiss, and she met him halfway. Her fingers cradled the back of his head, pulling  
him closer, closer, closer, and this time the kiss deepened enough for him to  
explore the contours of her mouth. To count her straight white teeth. To taste  
the wine on her tongue.  
  
He groaned, and he felt the corners of her mouth pull up in a smile. Her hands  
went to his chest, pulling up his sweater, ooh, no more sweater, teasing fingers  
right there, lower than right there, heading south, oh, my God, heading...  
  
Oh.  
  
"Josh?"  
  
Whoa, come back, come back. He blinked until his vision focused, and what he saw  
was almost his undoing.  
  
Donna, slipping out from his embrace, pulling her sweater over her head.  
Smoothing down her hair and looking at him with smoky blue eyes, smiling at him  
with red lips just a little swollen from kissing. All that sweet, soft skin.  
  
"Yeah?" He was barely able to get the syllable out past the sudden inability to  
take in oxygen.  
  
She grabbed him by the belt loops and yanked him forward. He lurched a little,  
landing in her arms as she tipped her head back for more kisses, and more  
kisses, and he was going to lose it big-time if she didn't stop the thing with  
her hips.  
  
He had to move away.  
  
Sometime...pretty soon.  
  
Oh. God. Yeah.  
  
With a force of will he didn't realize existed, he stepped back and inclined his  
head toward the bedroom. He knew, with the small part of his brain that gave a  
damn about such things, that he probably looked like an idiot.  
  
Big deal, in the long run, when she put her hands on his chest and pushed him  
backwards, never moving her mouth from his until the backs of his knees  
connected with her bed. He tumbled onto his back, a move not destined to win him  
points for finesse, and made very embarrassing sounds as he wriggled out of his  
pants. Donna slipped out of her clothes with more refinement and covered his  
body with hers.  
  
He was lying underneath Donna, who was naked, and who wanted him. He could die a  
happy man.  
  
But first - he had things to do.  
  
Sweet things, things that made her grip his shoulders and arch her back, things  
that had her making sounds he'd only dreamed could exist. Things that left them  
both breathless, aching, demanding. Here. More. Again.  
  
He mourned for the body he'd had when they first met, his thirty-seven year old  
body, lean and athletic. Without the holes and the scars. Without the pain that  
came more and more often. But he'd wasted that body, wasted the years, and  
now...  
  
...too fast, going to be over too fast, please, please, just another minute  
buried in her with those incredibly long legs wrapped around him, her breath  
hot in his ear. Now, she breathed, and Yes, and I love you, Joshua, and he was  
vanquished.  
  
He might have cried out her name. He couldn't hear it above the singing in his  
body, the chorus from every nerve fiber. All he knew was that her warm hands  
were on his back, smoothing the bunched muscles, and that her hair was soft  
beneath his cheek.  
  
If he had to force air into his lungs, then at least it was Donna-scented, was  
his first linear thought. He shuddered when he left her body, and she whimpered  
a little, reaching for the blanket and pulling it up over them like a shelter.  
They were nose-to-nose on the pillow, still breathing hard as their bodies  
cooled and their higher brain functions returned. Josh turned over on his back -  
exertion brought an old, familiar pain in his chest that would only wane if he  
took the pressure off of it, and he had definitely exerted himself - and felt  
Donna settle down with her head over his heart.  
  
They were quiet. Meditative. Astonished. Josh ran his fingers through Donna's  
hair, savoring each strand. Beautiful, he might have said aloud, must have,  
because she smiled and pressed her lips against his chest and said he was  
beautiful, too.  
  
***   
Part Four   



	4. 4 of 5

***  
  
The city bustled with pre-dawn activity. Parade routes were marked, news  
organizations staked claims to various locations. There were balloons and  
streamers, and two men in bulky coats counted folding chairs on a large  
platform. Coffee shops prepared their wares in vats, and there was an unusually  
high per-capita ratio of doughnuts.  
  
There were a few protesters here and there, mostly ignoring one another as they  
affixed placards to sticks. The police mostly ignored them in return, showing  
just enough presence to let the citizens know that they meant business. Here and  
there were dark-suited men and women who did not blend into their scenery - not  
that they meant to do so in the first place.  
  
Every four years the city reinvented itself, molded itself in the image of one  
person. One leader. One vision. Such a heavy weight, such an awesome burden, yet  
one taken on gladly and with reverence.  
  
Such a beautiful city, where the heart and soul of a nation could be made new.  
  
Bartlet wiped condensation from the window of his limousine and continued gazing  
out at the streets. The sunrise that was just beginning cast a purplish glimmer  
on the monuments. Even the White House looked hazy, dreamlike.  
  
But there was someone awake inside the building, someone who had asked to see  
him. Sam met him in the lobby, apologizing even as Bartlet wrapped his arms  
around him and patted him on the back. "I shouldn't have called, I shouldn't  
have dragged you down here," he mumbled into Bartlet's coat.  
  
"Nonsense. I don't sleep much anyway - but you should still be resting. It's a  
big day, and it's going to be a long one." He held Sam by the shoulders,  
grateful that there were no tremors in his hands today. Locked gazes with him.  
"I know."  
  
"I know you do - that's why I asked you to come. Please, let's go sit in the  
Mural Room."  
  
"You didn't light a fire in there, did you?"  
  
Sam leaned back, blinking. "You know, Josh was part of that."  
  
"Of course I know. He gave you up too fast to be innocent." He smiled at some of  
the agents he'd known during his tenure, shaking a few hands as he and Sam  
headed for the Mural Room. "I haven't been in here since the week we left  
office."  
  
"Me, either. I just wanted to talk, and I'm not ready yet to see people in the  
Oval."  
  
"I'm not ready to see people in the Oval, either." Bartlet accepted a cup of  
coffee, smiling his thanks to the aide who slipped out as quietly as he had  
entered. "So. What's on your mind?"  
  
Sam looked away and down for a moment. "The first time, the first Inaugural day  
- were you apprehensive?"  
  
"I was apprehensive just about every day I got out of bed. January 20th, 1999,  
more so than usual. I was downright scared, Sam - I'm sorry, would you prefer  
that I call you--?"  
  
"Sam. Please." He turned back toward his guest. "That's another reason I didn't  
want to go into the Oval. I just need..." He trailed off.  
  
"Fatherly advice?" Bartlet asked.  
  
"Something like that. Something...yes. That. I know I'm ready. I know I can do  
this. But it's hitting hard this morning, the idea that there will be things  
beyond my control or even my comprehension."  
  
"There will. And you'll ask advice from the most knowledgeable people you can  
gather to you, and they'll help you lead them. That's the best kind of  
leadership. The shared kind." He leaned over, grimacing at the stiffness in his  
hips and back. "Look who you have with you. What I wouldn't have given for a  
Vice-President who had my back. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated John for  
everything he gave me, but there was always a price, always a battle. It's not  
like that with you and Matt. The relationship you two have is what the offices  
were meant to be: complimentary rather than adversarial. You have Josh, the  
politician, and Matt has Donna, the peacemaker. C.J. will work with the new guy,  
what's his name?"  
  
"Frank."  
  
"Frank, yes. They'll get your message out, loud and clear. And your message will  
be just that, yours. I always savored the speeches you wrote for me. I loved  
saying your words. They'll be even more remarkable coming from your voice."  
  
Sam's posture relaxed and the worry lines receded. "That's very kind of you," he  
said softly.  
  
"It's very true of me. And I'm about the only person in the country who can tell  
you like it is, so you know I'm always going to take advantage of that power.  
You are going to be a great President. You've made us proud. You've made me  
proud."  
  
Damn old age, anyway, he thought as he pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at  
his eyes. He reached back into his jacket for the small package Abbey had placed  
there, and he gave it to Sam.  
  
Sam's expression was puzzled. "What is it?"  
  
"I wanted to give you something special. Leo gave me this for my Inauguration,  
and I just thought I'd pass it down to you."  
  
Sam pulled the paper away, revealing a leather-bound Bible. "Were you sworn in  
with this?"  
  
"I was. Both times. I didn't know if you had a special...family one. Nina said  
she didn't think so. I hope you don't mind the presumption."  
  
Shaking his head, Sam said, "I'm touched that you'd want to share this with me.  
I should warn you, though, that we planned for Helen to hold the Bible when I  
take the oath, and it's not outside the realm of possibility that it could be,  
well, you know."  
  
Bartlet laughed. "That's not important. But I took the liberty of marking a  
passage for you. May I?" He reached for the Bible and leafed through it with one  
hand while putting his glasses on with the other. "Ah, yes, Daniel. Listen to  
this: 'And they that are wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament;  
And they that turn the many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.'  
Toby said it reminded him of you. I couldn't agree more."  
  
Sam pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. Bartlet could see the  
strength it took for him to rein in his emotions. He placed the Bible in Sam's  
lap and patted his hands. "Go, pick up Helen and sit with her for a while. Let  
her practice gnawing on this, if it'll help. And don't forget to tell Nina she  
looks beautiful, even if you can't focus on what she's wearing."  
  
Rising, Sam offered his hand and helped Bartlet out of the chair. "I'm sorry,"  
he said again, but Bartlet waved him to silence.  
  
"You spent many a night and day with me when I was troubled. This - this is a  
pleasure." He embraced Sam again, kissing him on the cheek. "I'm so very proud  
of everything you've done, and so very honored that you still call on me for  
advice."  
  
"Always," Sam whispered. "And thank you for coming here so early in the  
morning." They walked to the entrance, lost in thought.  
  
Bartlet smiled up at him. "It's a beautiful day, Mr. President. I'll see you out  
there." He got into the waiting car and waved at Sam. Just a few hours, and he'd  
be sworn in, duly made the leader of his nation.  
  
It was truly going to be a beautiful day.  
  
***  
  
Josh opened his eyes slowly, needing a few seconds to remember where he was, and  
why. He ran his hand along Donna's arm, then moved down into the valley of her  
waist, finally coming to rest on her hip. Every cliché he'd ever known rushed to  
his lips. He swallowed them all back. He didn't dare say something stupid,  
something that would make her laugh at him. Something to dissolve the perfection  
of the moment.  
  
Donna shifted a little as she awoke, turning her head and peering up at him.  
Behind the wonder in her eyes was a little hint of anxiety. Josh caressed her  
face, hoping to convey through touch this thing for which he had no words. There  
was a little more hope in her smile, but she seemed to expect him to say  
something. He fished around in the swirling fog of his brain, took a deep  
breath, and hoped for the best.  
  
"We beat the deadline."  
  
Yeah, that's what you want to say right now, you schmuck.  
  
On the other hand, this was Donna, his Donna, and she didn't seem to want to  
kill him. She grinned at him, instead, and pulled up so that she could plant a  
very, very expert kiss on his lips.  
  
"Yes," she said when she came up for air. "Try this: after careful  
consideration, we came to a logical and well-planned decision."  
  
"With the help of trusted advisors," Josh added, and Donna picked up the ball  
and ran with it.  
  
"After all, it's best not to rush into these things."  
  
That did it, and they both burst into laughter. Josh found it odd, as he gasped  
for air and watched Donna wipe her eyes, that it seemed the most appropriate  
thing for them to be doing right now. Laughing. Designing spin for sex - this  
could become a post-coital theme for them if they weren't careful.  
  
Donna stretched, sighing blissfully. "I think we should call C.J. and let her  
know everything turned out all right."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Just all right?"  
  
Groaning, Donna further mussed his already-mussed hair. "You're such a guy,  
Josh."  
  
"Ah." Then, "Wait - that's not a bad thing, is it?"  
  
"I need more data before reaching that conclusion, although preliminary tests  
are promising. Oh, wipe that 'I'm da man' expression off your face."  
  
"I can't help it!" Josh protested. "I'm basking in afterglow, here. You can't  
expect me not to be at least a little smug."  
  
Thump.  
  
"What the hell?" Josh asked, frowning. He got out of bed, wincing at the feel of  
cold air on his naked body. Finding his clothes took a moment, by which time  
Donna had slipped out of bed and into her bathrobe. "Do you get a paper?"  
  
"No, I read them at work." She opened the door. "Oh. This is for you."  
  
A dry cleaning bag containing his best charcoal-gray suit and two ties hung from  
the doorknob. On the floor was a duffel bag, and next to that was an open  
cardboard box containing two enormous cups of coffee and a variety of pastries.  
A piece of paper was wedged under the box. Donna pulled it out and handed it to  
Josh, then brought the clothing and food inside.  
  
Josh read aloud, squinting without his glasses as he followed Donna back into  
the apartment. "'Don't forget what day it is. Wear the red tie, not the blue  
one. Get some new socks sometime soon because you're down to your last few  
decent pairs. And eat something, don't just drink the coffee. Margaret.'"  
  
Donna stood on tiptoe, reading over his shoulder while running her fingers  
through his hair. "A lot of people love you, Josh," she whispered into his ear.  
"God knows I do."  
  
He spun around and held her tightly against him, his face buried in her hair.  
Donna's embrace was strong and tender. Protective. Loving. And he didn't know  
what he had ever done to deserve it, to deserve her. There was only one thing of  
which he was certain, this thing he'd known in his soul for a dozen years, this  
thing he had to tell her right now because he had put it off for so, so many  
years and because he'd been too overwhelmed to say it last night.  
  
Deep breath. You can do this. You can do this and nothing bad will happen. Say  
it, before it's too late. Deep breath. You can do this.  
  
"I love you, Donna."  
  
***   
Part Five   



	5. 5 of 5

***   
  
This was, as Toby would say, "the proverbial It."  
  
Sam was as ready as he ever would be. Dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, blue  
silk tie that matched his eyes, according to Nina, and wouldn't bleed on  
television, according to C.J. Shoes polished, soles scuffed on the concrete, as  
per Josh's instructions, to prevent slipping.  
  
Yeah, falling on his ass in front of the Chief Justice would suck.  
  
The morning was crisp and clear, and he wore a black overcoat and gloves. So did  
Nina, concealing the incredibly beautiful royal blue silk suit that would look  
amazing in photographs once they got back indoors. Gary had still been putting  
the hem in it three days ago, and just this morning he had changed the buttons  
on the jacket. Nina had been too busy dressing Helen to notice or care what was  
going on with her own wardrobe.  
  
Sam felt the softness of Helen's gloved hand in his as he helped her up the  
stairs. Oohs and ahhs from the crowd accompanied her appearance on the dais, and  
Helen, always happy to show off her finery, responded with a twirl that made the  
hem of her ivory coat stand out and show a glimpse of the cherry-red velvet  
dress beneath. Cameras whirred as Abbey held out her arms, and Helen raced over  
to her as fast as her tiny patent-leather shoes would allow.  
  
Leaning over a little, Sam helped Nina up the last couple of steps. God, was  
there a more beautiful woman anywhere on the face of the earth? She stood with  
him, smiling, radiant, waving at the crowds as even more flashes went off. The  
chilly air made her face glow, her eyes shining in the sunlight.  
  
Behind the Bartlets was strong, steadfast Toby, with his arm around C.J. Was she  
crying already? No, just laughing at something, and pointing...  
  
...at Josh, arriving late. Tie slightly askew, he flashed his dimples at Nina by  
way of apology. Donna worked to fix Josh's tie, her gloved hands fumbling with  
the knot. Her mission accomplished, she turned around to wave at Sam and Nina.  
She was...aglow.  
  
Wow.  
  
Nina went over to their friends while Sam spent a few minutes shaking hands with  
various dignitaries. Congratulations, God bless you, we're so happy for you. He  
thanked everyone while scanning the crowd for his parents.  
  
Side by side for a change, for the first time since his wedding. His mother wept  
quietly into a tissue, holding him for a long time and whispering words of love  
and pride. His father stood, offering his hand. A handshake, Dad? Sam looked up  
into eyes the color of his own, but with a cold sheen to them, a hardness.  
  
That was as much as the man could offer. So be it, so be it.  
  
Nina's father, however somber he looked in his black coat and hat, was much more  
tactile. He seemed to have no qualms about clasping Sam in a tight hug. "You  
take care of my girl," he said, just as he had done at the wedding, just as he  
had done the day after Helen was born.  
  
"I will. I promise." Sam spotted Matt and joined him for a few photos.  
  
Matt was still a little bit in shock, for all that he was the more experienced  
politician. His handsome face fell a little as he nodded at Gary, who had chosen  
to sit with Sam's family in hopes of keeping some privacy intact on this  
madhouse of a day. Matt patted Sam on the shoulder as they walked over to the  
Bartlets and their entourage and took the two empty seats between the former  
President and the future First Lady.  
  
Behind them, they heard Josh's unfortunate stage whisper. "Use this: 'After  
careful consideration and the help of trusted friends and advisors, they came to  
a logical and well-planned decision. After all, it's best not to rush into these  
things.'"  
  
"That's really good," C.J. declared in a quiet alto. "When did you come up with  
that?" There was a pause, during which time Sam turned his head enough to see  
Josh turning red and mumbling something incoherent. "You are kidding me!" C.J.  
exclaimed, loud enough for the front row to hear. "You made up spin for sex, you  
know, during?"  
  
Abbey had to hide her face in Helen's hair. Her husband, having no such screen,  
was working very hard to keep a straight face.  
  
Matt looked as if he'd been pole-axed. He scarcely had time to recover before he  
was called up to the podium. His father, as tall and handsome as Matt, held the  
Bible as his son was sworn into office. Matthew Charles Skinner became  
Vice-President of the United States of America. Sam cheered as loudly as the  
rest of the crowd, standing up and embracing Matt when he returned to his seat.  
  
Then, it was his turn. Heart thundering, he stopped in front of Abbey to pick  
Helen up in his arms. "It's showtime, precious," Abbey said, fixing Helen's red  
hat firmly on her head. "Go make your mommy and daddy proud."  
  
Nina was beside him, her hand in the crook of his elbow. So many people might  
think he was supporting her, but it was the other way around. Sam smiled at her  
as they took their places. "Thank you," he whispered as he leaned over to kiss  
her. The crowd chuckled softly, and Sam nodded at the Chief Justice. "I'm ready  
now."  
  
He'd practiced the words until he knew them by heart. By heart. At this moment,  
with Helen's white-gloved hands holding the Bible and Nina's arm around his  
waist, with the respectful gazes of his beloved friends upon him, he made his  
solemn vow.  
  
"I, Samuel Norman Seaborn, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the  
office of President of the United States, and I will, to the best of my ability,  
preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."  
  
He had followed an extraordinary path to this most amazing of beginnings, guided  
by these people who believed in him, these men and women who wept and cheered  
and loved him, these friends who would ever demonstrate the rarest faith.  
  
  
***   
End "The Triumph of Principles" and the series, "The Rarest Faith." Thank  
you for reading.  
  
Feedback would make it all worthwhile: Marguerite@operamail.com .  
Please read the dedication to Jo, Ria, and Sacha.  
  
**A Beta of Valor**  
A beta of valor, who can find?  
For her price is far beyond bandwidth.  
The heart of her author doth safely trust in her,  
And has no lack of words.  
She doeth the author good and not evil,  
All the days of her reading.  
She seeketh continuity and characterization,  
And typeth willingly with her hands.  
She is like the list moderators;  
She bringeth her wisdom from afar.  
She riseth also while it is yet night,  
And giveth advice via IM,  
And some gossip also.  
She considereth a web site, and builds it;  
With the html of her mind she planteth stories.  
She girdeth her loins with NC-17,  
And maketh strong her opinions.  
She perceiveth that her advice is good;  
Her screen goeth not out by night.  
She layeth her hands to the Word document,  
And her hands hold the delete key.  
She stretcheth out her hand to the poor speller;  
Yea, she reacheth forth her hands to those with POV issues.  
She is not afraid of the hiatus for her fanfic,  
For all her website is clothed with graphics.  
She maketh for herself printouts;  
Her clothing is comfortable for long evenings of editing.  
Her author is known in the fandom,  
When she sitteth among those who also have trouble finishing stories.  
She maketh good words and posts them;  
And delivers kind advice to the writer.  
Strength and grammar are her clothing;  
And she laugheth at the errors, but not too much.  
She typeth her commentary with wisdom;  
And the law of humor is on her tongue.  
She looketh well to the ways of her writer,  
And eateth not the bread of snark.  
Her authors rise up, and call her blessed;  
Those who read the authors also, and they praise her:  
"Many betas have done valiantly,  
But thou exceedest them all."  
Snark is deceitful, and verbosity is vain;  
But a beta that feareth not the author, she shall be praised.  
Give her of the fruit of her typing;  
And let her works praise her on the rec pages.  
  
I love you very, very much.  
  
Back to West Wing .  



End file.
